


Homeostasis.

by pompeiian_bollocker



Category: Peter Capaldi - Fandom, The Hour
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anxiety, Captivity, F/M, Journalism, PTSD, Past Torture, Return from Captivity, Secrets, War Correspondant, With great power comes great mental illness., idyllic memories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 07:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14587665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pompeiian_bollocker/pseuds/pompeiian_bollocker
Summary: Randall Brown refuses to accept the war correspondant for The Hour is dead after over a month of captivity. Giving up would mean he got her killed.





	Homeostasis.

**Author's Note:**

> This is being written as a way to overcome writer's block and trying different and more flexible structures. I work with really demanding deadlines and unexpected delays, I'm shit at keeping up and haven't written fanfiction in over 12 years. So, apologies in advance if I disappear after one or two chapters, I'm a twat, I'm working on it.  
> Thank you @mistressterably and @Samstown4077 for the inspiration and help.

Walking into the office she ruffles her short brown hair, slightly upset that she didn't have enough time to let it dry properly. She walks briskly past the meeting room, soon to be followed by a somewhat slower Bel. "Don't" she told the producer, "I haven't said anything!" Bel retorted, slightly chuckling. "But your clacking heels are circling up on me like crows, let me at least get a third coffee, or even better! Reach my desk." she says without turning, nor slowing down. Bel lets out a small laugh "You know how he gets", she finally turns to face her colleague while hanging her coat by the desk and says "Precisely", before Bel is summoned away by Lix.

Coat forgotten in the hanger, Randall frowns pressing a paper towel to the inner side of his infuriatingly damp left sleeve while everyone takes their seats in the meeting room. The door shuts and he looks up, tormented still by the empty space in the back of the room to his right. He lets out an almost unnoticeable sigh, turns around and starts copying bulletpoints from his moleskine to the blackboard. The door opens again, Randall resists the urge to turn and look, but he knows. There's a specific sound stored in his brain for the way she opens the door, and that's what he's just heard. The mesmerizing aroma of the espresso confirmed his suspicion, no need to turn around after all. Sissy does gasp -as expected, while Isaac just stares in disbelief. A sip, a slight curse and the sound of the table dragging slightly as she takes a seat on it. Randall is finally back into his comfort zone, underlines the last word on the board and turns to the now full room. "Had you arrived on time, Doineann I wouldn't have recognized you at all. Welcome back." he smiles with a nod to the now-occupied space in the back of the room. Doineann smiles back, raises her cup in a silent cheer and takes another sip from her coffee "I considered it for a moment, but I made the mistake of blinking while the developing dried up" Everyone chuckles and Randall looks at his watch "We may be able to forgive that 48-minute blink, considering how inconveniently close it got to becoming permanent." his tone got darker "Please, from now on refrain from going missing in countries that consider ours their enemy for weeks. The equipment we flew you with is expensive and the BBC expects a return for their investment." Randall gives her a final  smirk and she shrugs "I will try. No promises, though". He had to stop himself from smiling gleefully.

Later that day, once the meeting was done, the footage was delivered, the buzz had settled about her return and Doineann was sent back home to rest, Randall unlocks his desk's right drawer to find a small package with a note scrawled on it. "What an obnoxious and elaborate excuse to get you these it all ended up being. Worth it a million times, x". Meticulously, Randall unwraps the package to discover two croissants and one pan au chocolat. His breath falters and his hands shake, Randall takes one of the croissants in his hand and gives it a small bite. The taste triggering a chain reaction, he finally drops on his leather chair, the invisible weight of the tension her disappearing and imminent gruesome death is lifted off his shoulders. She's alright. He's seen her dead, dismembered and god knows what else on a loop since the day the lost contact. She’s far from alright, he keeps telling himself, but she IS. It doesn't matter anymore, his sleepless nights, his panic attacks, his endless tears don't matter anymore. She's back in one piece after what could have potentially killed her, yet she had the mind to stop for croissants at  _ their _ place.

Doineann wakes up in a jolt, panting as if she had just ran a marathon, she looks around lingering in the vacant space at her side. The clock reads 11am, she hasn’t slept that late in months. The memory soothes her a little, even a smile briefly ghosts her lips before untangling herself from the bed and making her way to the bathroom. Still not used to her surroundings, she opens the tap to splash some water on her face, the sudden cold locks her throat and her breathing falters again. She’s not strapped down onto a board, but in a second she’s back to the dusty cell she was almost drowned in days on end for the last month or so. She likes to pretend she didn’t count the days, the hours she was held there. That during a session with the car battery, her mind wouldn’t wander to some safe niche within her memories where someone held her close, carefree and lovingly throughout the night. She was back in London and the rest was a haze,  _ nothing happened _ , she repeats under her breath. The past month was nothing but a bad memory.  

Randall had succeeded at keeping himself from trying the home phone for the rest of the day, he hovered over it more times than he deemed reasonable. Almost running, he takes on the stairs to his flat. Paper bags rattling awkwardly as he made his way up. Not wanting to wake her up nor startle her, he unlocks the door as silently as he can, leaves the bags on the floor and walks in calling her name not too loudly in case she is still asleep. A strong smell catches his attention, but he walks to his room,  _ their  _ room, he needs to make sure she is there, resting. His stomach sinks when she doesn’t find her there, his mind going through all the possible scenarios, none good. He knows it, he knows it’s improbable, but it’s not something he can control. She could have been followed, for all he knows. Almost desperately he tries for the studio, empty. Long hurried steps take him to the bathroom, his mind reeling, preparing himself with a thousand gruesome images he could find himself with. But he opens the door to find Doineann curled up on the floor, softly snoring against one of his heavily worn henleys. He finally breathes and realizes this was the source of the smell once he sees the drying film rolls hanging over a makeshift rack over the bathtub. Randall shakes his head and picks her up holding her close to his chest, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of her head and allowing a few rogue tears to slip away discretely down his cheek before she shifts sleepily in his arms.

“You’re safe now, love. Let’s get you somewhere a bit more comfortable” He says as he walks her over to the lounge couch, lowering her to the inviting surface. He steps away to get the momentarily forgotten bags, for a few seconds he wrestles the blanket out of its package and she groggily calls his name. “Worry not, I’m here. I’ve got you” he says hurrying to her side, bundling her up in the blanket and holding her close. “We have to get Isaac the cans, they should be dry by now” she mumbles trying to get up from the couch. He holds her down gently and whispers “Don’t worry, he’s left for the day already”. A bantlant lie, but the longer he can keep her out of work mode, the better.

  
  
  



End file.
